Rogue Read online

  “I won’t stand here and be insulted,” I snapped. “I came here because I thought this was a safe place to explore my desires without being judged. Apparently I was wrong.”

  Okay, so maybe they weren’t my desires, but from what I had read on the internet, the BDSM community was supposed to be accepting, so long as you practiced safely. I suppressed a snort. I supposed I shouldn’t have expected a safe environment in a club where safety most definitely did not come first.

  I glared up at Carter. Even if he wasn’t personally partaking, he was a participant in what was going on at Decadence. There was no way he didn’t realize what was happening at his club.

  Is anything really going on here? Through my anger, I had to acknowledge that so far, I hadn’t seen anything that suggested the contrary. I shouldn’t waste my time with Carter any longer. I had a job to do, and he was just distracting me. I was getting emotional, and that was never a good thing. I needed to maintain a clear head.

  Derek Carter was not going to cause me to fuck up this op.

  I turned my back on him, preparing to stalk away. My body had only half-turned when his hand closed around my wrist, his long fingers encircling it completely. This time, I didn’t jerk away. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of deigning to release me.

  When I fixed him with my most glacial stare, I found his expression to be contrite rather than cocky.

  “I’m sorry. That was out of line. You caught me on a bad night, and I’m in full asshole mode. Of course this is a safe place. You’re more than welcome here, and I admire that you want to learn the ropes before practicing as a Dominatrix. I’m sure you’ll be an excellent Domme.”

  The stiffness in my muscles eased slightly with his sincere apology. I had no interest in actually learning the ropes, but it was nice to meet a man who could so easily admit when he fucked up. I certainly hadn’t expected it from a Dom.

  As I relaxed in his grip, he brushed his thumb along the inside of my wrist, where my veins were only thinly protected by a delicate stretch of skin. His attentive touch to the vulnerable area should have set off alarm bells in my head. Physical vulnerability wasn’t an option in my line of work.

  The corners of his lips tugged upwards, and he repeated the motion, more slowly this time. My pulse jumped under his thumb, the uptick in tempo sending blood pumping more forcefully into other areas of my body.

  “You know,” he continued, his tone smooth and controlled. The deeper pitch made his words sink into me like the thrum of a double bass. “Some Dominants learn by submitting themselves at first. You can better appreciate the pain you’re delivering if you know what it feels like yourself. I’d be happy to help you with that.”

  Wait. What? It took a few more of those fluttering heartbeats for the meaning of his words to sink in. I stiffened again, and my glare returned.

  “I’m beginning to suspect that ‘asshole mode’ is your only mode. I don’t think Decadence is a good fit for me.” I stared pointedly at the hand that still ensnared my wrist. His fingers tightened briefly as his muscles flexed, but a moment later they reluctantly unfurled, releasing me.

  When I looked up at him again, his brows were drawn in frustration, but his inward gaze told me it was directed at himself rather than me.

  “I’m out of line again. I understand if you want to leave. I really am sorry…” He looked at me questioningly, and I realized he wanted to know my name.

  “Sharon.” The two short syllables were clipped.

  “I’d like to show you around, Sharon. I promise I really can be hospitable.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  I blew out a little sigh. I couldn’t leave now. If I did, it would give Miller complete control of the op. If we were going to make a bust, I was going to be the one to take the lead. “But it’s too late to go to a different club tonight. I’ll look around by myself.”

  He frowned at me and took a step back, finally clearing my personal space. “Of course. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  “Sure.” My nonplussed expression communicated that I would do nothing of the sort. I wasn’t going to waste any more time talking to Carter. Or being insulted by him, rather. I stared up at him coolly. His muscular arms flexed in response to my defiant stance, and his own eyes turned hard. The force of his challenge bore down on me like a physical thing. But I was accustomed to engaging in staring contests with alpha males, and I resolutely held my ground.

  After a few seconds, he managed to swallow his pride and break contact. I was a customer, after all, and he had already all but ruined his reputation with me through his blatantly rude behavior.

  So he was worried about damaging his reputation in my eyes? Just wait until I bring your whole world crumbling down, Carter. If I so much as spotted a few specks of white powder, I would shut this place down.

  I turned my attention back to the people in the dungeon, my gaze automatically searching for the grey-haired Dom and his blissful submissive. When I found him, he winked at me again. I shifted and dropped my eyes, embarrassed.

  “So I see Carter has you figured out.” The low voice at my ear was different this time, but not unfamiliar. It had that same ring of arrogance that grated on my nerves. I whirled, and my glare intensified when I identified Miller.

  “God damn it! Do all Doms have spatial awareness deficiencies? Have you ever heard the term ‘personal space’?”

  Miller appeared unfazed. “I’ve heard of it. But social conventions flew out the window as soon as you crossed the threshold of this club.”

  I gave him a bland smile to cover the fact that I was spitting mad at my “friend.” Between my confusion at the effect of Carter’s touch, his insults, and my interest in the older man paddling his sub, my emotions were a tangled mess. I didn’t know what to make of what was happening to my body. Taking a deep breath, I masked my disconcerting vulnerability.

  I lowered my voice to ensure that I couldn’t be heard by the other patrons over the pulsing music. “Carter didn’t make me. Our conversation wasn’t exactly friendly, but there’s no way he figured out I’m FBI.”

  “No,” Miller agreed easily, that infuriatingly knowing smile transforming his handsome features into something wholly distasteful. “He’s figured out you’re submissive.”

  My smile slipped so that it more closely resembled a grimace. “You might think you’ve got all the power here because we’re in ‘your’ territory, but I will burn you with the department if you don’t show me some respect, rookie. I might be a woman, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less capable of doing my job. And it definitely doesn’t mean I’m incapable of kicking your ass.”

  Miller instantly backed off. “That’s not what I meant at all. Of course I respect you.” His eyes might be nearly black in the dimmed lighting of the club, but sincerity shone in their dark depths.

  Then he had to go and ruin it. “There’s no shame in being a sub. Being sexually submissive doesn’t mean you’re weak or somehow less than anyone else. Claiming your sexual identity is a very empowering thing.”

  Disbelief caused me to fumble for a moment. Was this near-stranger seriously discussing my sexuality so casually? How was this in any way professional conversation? The atmosphere in Decadence and the women silently fawning all over him must have been going to his head.

  “Empowering? That’s easy for you to say when you’re the one who holds all the power.”

  He shook his head. “It’s not like that. Didn’t you talk to anyone about the dynamics of D/s before you took on this op?”

  “I did my research.”

  Miller studied me for a moment, weighing up his next move. He was obviously torn between a desire to lecture me on the finer points of BDSM and pushing me to a point where I screwed him at the office. Proving he wasn’t a complete idiot, he finally shrugged and let the subject drop.

  “Have you found anything?” He asked, his expression appropriately professional. “I saw some pills being handed off a
t the bar and a guy doing a line of coke in the bathroom. They’re barely even trying to be discreet here. Using at Decadence has obviously become the norm.” His eyes turned impossibly darker as he scowled in distaste.

  I nodded curtly, pleased that he had actually turned up some evidence but disappointed that I hadn’t. I had allowed Carter to waste far too much of my time. The most I could hope for now was to equal what Miller had found to prevent him from taking responsibility for the successful bust.

  “Nothing so far on my end. All I found out was that the owner is a bastard. If people aren’t bothering to be discreet, he’s probably part of it. I told him I was going to explore the club, so I’m going to take one more tour around before heading out.”

  I turned from Miller, not waiting for his nod of agreement. The dungeon obviously wasn’t the place to be looking. I would probably have more luck in the women’s bathroom.

  I had barely taken two steps in that direction when my eyes fell on a swarthy Latino guy who was leaning nonchalantly against the wall, a bored expression on his lean, pockmarked face. Intricate, colorful tattoos covered every visible inch of his skin, curling up his neck to end just below his jaw. A black cloth band was tied around his muscular upper arm, a sign that the FBI’s file on Decadence told me indicated that he was a dungeon monitor. He was employed by Carter. A thrill of triumph shot through me at the sight of him.

  Hugo Reyes. A known member of the Latin Kings.

  Gangsters could be into kink. They didn’t necessarily have to have nefarious purposes to frequent BDSM clubs. But his presence here coupled with the rampant drug use was cause for suspicion.

  My lips curled upward in my first genuinely pleased smile of the evening. This was exactly what I needed to secure my reputation with the Bureau. A plan began forming in my mind. Arrogant Doms like Miller wouldn’t even think about looking down on me if I could pull this off.

  Chapter 2

  “The NYPD is going to bust the place tonight. Everything’s in place now that Miller has gotten visual confirmation of drug use at Decadence. I’ve already spent more resources on this than I should have. We only got involved as a personal favor to Vaughn. This doesn’t even technically fall under our jurisdiction. You’re on the FBI Violent Gang Task Force, Silverman, not the NYPD Narcotics Division. I would think you would want a bigger case than this.”

  Kennedy Carver’s hazel eyes were coolly appraising, his fingers steepled in front of him. His elbows rested on the desk that separated us. He was seated, and I was standing. The power dynamic was physically obvious, its effect on me made all the more keen for the fact that I was alone in his office with him, the door closed at my back. I felt as though I was trapped with a predator, and I had to resist the urge to shift my weight uncomfortably in the wake of his steady stare.

  The man radiated an authority suited to his position; he was the unit director of the New York branch of the FBI. That made him my boss, which would have been reason enough for careful deference without the added weight of his powerful bearing. He intimidated the hell out of me, and it was always a struggle to maintain a confident stance while under his scrutiny. Now more so than ever before, because I was questioning his authority for the first time.

  “I think there’s more going on at the club. I want to extend the assignment.”

  This assertiveness in direct conflict with his orders went against my nature. If an authority figure told me to do something, I complied with alacrity. I had always been a perfectionist, a model student. My every move was carefully executed, every test flawlessly passed. I would settle for nothing less.

  But in the last few months, my performance at work had been far from perfect. My mistakes had almost cost lives. I needed a win. I needed to redeem myself. Not only to prove to the Bureau that I was a competent agent, but also to reassure myself that I wasn’t a failure. My recent fuck-ups were making me question my core self-identity, and my desperation to restore my confidence in myself was driving me to defy my boss.

  “I think the Latin Kings are involved with the drug culture at Decadence,” I said in the most confident tone I could muster.

  Kennedy’s brows rose. “Why do you think that, Silverman?” The coolness with which he said my surname let me know he had little patience for my theory. I had to convince him, and fast.

  “Hugo Reyes is working as a dungeon monitor.” My fingers shook slightly as I placed the file I had worked up on my boss’ desk. “We know Reyes is affiliated with the Kings. He just got released from Rikers three months ago. He was serving time for possession, but the DA couldn’t get anything else on him at the time he was arrested. They offered him a deal if he gave information on the Kings, but he refused.”

  Kennedy frowned and flipped the file open. “I don’t like the idea of one of those bastards working in a BDSM club, but his employment there doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s directly involved with the drug use at Decadence. If Carter is lax enough to allow his patrons to use on the premises, then he probably wouldn’t bat an eye at hiring a man with a record as extra muscle for his club. The NYPD will shut the whole place down and revoke Carter’s licenses to run his business, and the whole situation with Reyes will be dealt with that way. He can’t pose a threat to the clientele at Decadence if there is no Decadence.”

  “But what if the Kings are taking an active part in dealing?” I countered quickly. “If they’re trafficking through the club, then gathering more information on their business there will allow us to bring in more of them. We could take a major blow at the organization if we can connect more of the Kings to Reyes and Decadence. Some of them might even talk in exchange for deals.”

  My boss’ disapproving gaze turned considering; I was making headway. I pressed on. “The Kings are expanding into new territories in the wake of the downfall of the Westies. If we could take out a whole tribe, we could at least make some headway against them.”

  Four months ago, the FBI had gotten enough inside information on the notorious Westies – the Irish Mob – to bring down the whole organization. What we hadn’t foreseen was the fresh wave of violence when the Latin Kings surged into the vacated territories. The gang was separated into rival tribes, and while that splintered their power, it also escalated the violence between them.

  All I had on Decadence was a hunch, but anything we could do to slow the Kings’ expansion was a win at this point. And Kennedy knew it. He flipped though the file I had offered him.

  “Reyes is a member of the Muertos tribe. The same as Javier Santiago,” he confirmed. “Santiago hasn’t turned up enough intel for us to move in on the Muertos.” His lips thinned. “He hasn’t been checking in lately. He might have to be pulled from the field soon if the undercover op is getting too dangerous. I won’t lose any of my people to these motherfuckers.”

  If Kennedy was concerned about Javier – our man on the inside – he might just listen to me. I pressed my advantage. “I’m just asking for two weeks, sir. If I haven’t found anything more on the Kings by then, I’ll step back and let the NYPD do their job.”

  “You’ll step back when I tell you to step back, Silverman.” His tone turned steely, and I shrank away a fraction before I could stop myself.

  Shit. I had pushed him too hard. Kennedy wasn’t a man to tolerate being pushed. His hazel eyes speared me in place, green flashing through the brown. The disconcerting image of being pinned like a butterfly to a board flashed through my mind. I lowered my gaze, hoping to buy his tolerance with my deference.

  “But you can have your two weeks. As much as I hate to admit it, this hunch of yours is the most we’ve gotten on the Kings since we sent Santiago in over a year ago.”

  When I dared to look up at him, I found myself trapped by that incisive gaze once again.

  “How did your end of the recon mission go last night?” He asked. “Did the other patrons buy your Dominatrix act?”

  I stiffened at the word act. Was it really so unbelievable that I could be sexually dominant?


  “Silverman?” He prompted, his stony expression daring me to lie.

  “Carter thought I was a submissive.” My jaw tightened with the admission. “But the submissive men in the club were obviously convinced that I was a Domme.”

  “If Carter is suspicious, that’s more important than what the intoxicated customers think. Maybe it’s better if I turn this over to Miller. I can send Smith in with him.”

  Kennedy wanted to replace me with his Dom friends? No way. It occurred to me that there was only one way I could salvage this. I swallowed my distaste and committed to my decision.

  “Carter mentioned that a good way to train to become a Dominant is to practice the role of a submissive. He was interested in showing me that side of his club. I can take him up on his offer. I’ll be able to get closer to him than any of the guys can.”

  My boss’ brows drew together. “I won’t ask you to do that, Sharon. It’s not safe for you to enter that kind of relationship with a mark.”

  I couldn’t help it; I let out an exasperated huff. “Is what Santiago is doing safe? He’s living among the Latin Kings. I’ll be spending a few nights with an unscrupulous club owner.” I squared my shoulders. “I’ve passed all the same tests as the men in this department. I’m just as competent-”

  The words died in my throat when Kennedy stood quickly. At six and a half feet tall, he towered over my tiny five foot four frame. But it was the palpable anger that suddenly radiated from him that made me take a step back.

  “I put my people where I think they’ll be most effective, Silverman.” His voice was pitched low, but it seemed to boom throughout the office, filling the space and pressing against me.

  Bracing myself, I lifted my chin and met him squarely in the eye. “Then you know I’m your best shot at getting close to Carter. He’ll be suspicious of Smith and he has no reason to warm to Miller. I’m the most effective agent for this op.”